


Heavy

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, so many tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She won't ever forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> This wouldn't stay still so of course I had to give it life: a bit of procrastination from my studies I am steadfastly ignoring.
> 
> Just a quick drabble to help us all through this traumatic time that is post 4x18. I mean what even was that? Who thought that was okay?

One day she thinks she might forget.

She never wants to forget.

She sleeps so little now. She’s scared. She’s scared of what lies lurking in her head playing over and over and over while she’s unable to move but most of all, she’s scared she might wake up one morning and not remember.

It’s twisted really: she wants to sleep to reassure herself she can remember, but she wakes up silent tears staining the pillow that she refuses to acknowledge as she springs up ready for her next assignment.

She won’t dwell.

But she does.

She promises herself she won’t ever forget.

She remembers Hanna, vaguely. She remembers how she forgot. She forgot her smile, her laugh, the jokes they used to share at the back of the library or what they used to draw in Math when they should’ve been paying attention; the way she would distract her because Math came so easy and she was so bored.

Sometimes she even forgets that night. It’s kind of blurry, a distant haze of what she saw as no one trusted the innocent young girl who was clearly mistaken: the fallacy of human emotions clouding better judgment when it was so obvious and why couldn’t they just see it?

She never wants that to happen.

She won’t forget.

She has a routine now (Shaw hated routine-something she remembers) most mornings: stirring up pancakes, far too many for one person, showering, cleaning one USP Compact with such attention so that it functions perfectly. She makes black coffee taking the time to finish her cup, sometimes picking at the pancakes sometimes not. She might buy whipped cream or blueberries or maple syrup to put on top.

She so very rarely eats them. She sits staring sipping her coffee and when she’s done she pushes those pancakes into the trash and begins to wash up. She used to leave things: it never bothered her. Shaw liked things neat and out of the way-something she remembers.

The Machine is patient with her: She has to be as She tiptoes around her Analogue Interface in a way she never calculated She might have to.

It’s appreciated in a small way as she takes the most convoluted routes simply to pass by places she’s seen Shaw.

Saw Shaw.

She buys a coat one day: it’s colder now and she needs to wrap up so she buys a black coat. Not a leather jacket she can fortify with scarves and gloves but a thick woolen mid-thigh length coat. Shaw used to wear these-something she remembers-and while not her personal style she’ll give it a try for her. Besides, it’s more practical Shaw would say-something she remembers.

She orders Shaw’s favourite sandwich from The Lotus most weeks. They know her face now and they know who it’s for: ‘For Sameen?’ they ask, smile on their face as the extra pastrami gets slathered with mustard. ‘Yeah’ she’ll respond with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes because she doesn’t have the heart to admit the truth to them. To herself. At least here at a shitty backstreet store Shaw is still breathing. ‘Don’t forget the spice’ she mentions. Shaw liked the spice hotter than any human should ever be able to eat-something she remembers.

She once went to Shaw’s favourite steak house in the city. Ordered Shaw’s usual (she’d been there a few times with her, though definitely not on a date, Shaw would insist-something she remembers) a slab of steak and an ungodly amount of Tabasco.

She eats it just so she can remember.

She can’t look at Bear. He’s a dark shadow in the underground station: a black hole she won’t dare go near and she skirts around him because she doesn’t know what to say. She still brings him steak though: giant bones and new collars that she leaves on the desk because Shaw used to do that-something she remembers.

She can’t walk past the Stock Exchange. The Machine never sends her there. She appreciates that.

She can’t look at herself in the mirror. She sees out of the corner of her eye her reflection as she walks past the glass windows of the street and sometimes she thinks she sees Shaw next to her, small and pint sized but so full of fire-something she remembers-but she’s never there.

She can’t lose another teammate. Another friend. It torments her: it torments her that She can so easily sacrifice something so precious and she will do everything to stop that happening again.

She likes to blame Her. She doesn’t talk to Her as much because she’s angry and she’s broken and she doesn’t need her she can make her own choices (Shaw used to question how she could follow Her so blindly-something she remembers. Back then it was obvious but now she can’t find a reason) but she can’t she does need Her and she knows it’s not Her fault.

She sleeps in fits no more than 4 hours at a time writhing and squirming or motionless as she stands transfixed by the scene of her dream the scene that haunts her now wherever she goes, the image she desperately wants to erase but doesn’t dare let herself forget.

She never wants to forget.

She drinks whiskey to help herself sleep as she lies awake at 2am on the couch staring at a wall in a hotel or a motel or an abandoned flat. She doesn’t much like whiskey but she’s growing a tolerance because Shaw always had some in next to a bottle of white wine she insisted wasn’t for her-something she remembers.

She smiles like she’s supposed to (Shaw once said she missed the perky psycho-something she remembers) and walks like nothing has changed but it hangs over her clouding her every movement. She wonders whether the others can see it, even care at all that she’s just okay. She’s fine. She is. If they do they say nothing and she’s not sure what’s worse. They tiptoe around her like she’s a bomb waiting to go off and if she’s honest she is: she’s ready to collapse tears always just below the surface.

Shaw would hate her for crying-something she remembers.

She can’t say her name without a waver in her voice. She can’t even face what she did and that makes it worse: she can’t even verbalize it. It hangs so heavy she doesn’t want to face it because it hurts and she’s never been one for regretting her actions but maybe if she hadn’t asked for her help, her own selfish need to make Shaw happy to see that smirk on her face clouding her judgment then maybe none of this would have happened.

She doesn’t want to remember but she forces herself every night to watch the scene unfold in her head, recalling every minute detail every tiny thing she can remember until her brain hurts and sometimes she feels tears prickling her eyes and when she finds something she forgets she asks Her to play back the footage because she won’t forget a thing.

She won’t forget anything.


End file.
